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UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
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97, Westbourne Grove, W Brighton: 135, North St

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES;
AND

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

BY

THE

REV. P. B. POWER, M.A.,
Author of "The Oiled Feather," etc.

PUBLISHED UNDER

THE DIRECTION

OF THE TRACT COMMITTEE.

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BRIGHTON : 135, NORTH STREET.

NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO.

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES.
I.--THE ACCIDENT.

provided for them out of things
which happened (if they really
Terrible Railway Accident!
Five Killed and Twenty Wounded !!
did happen) and if not, out of
Arrival from America of Contortionini,
things which did not happen,
the Celebrated Clown !
which some thought would answer
Died of a Broken Heart !
the purpose quite as well.
Eel Pies Extraordinary.
And all the Latest News.
The secretary of the ' Great
Cumberlidge'line confirmed the
first part of the above intelligence in the following brief
announcement to the editors of
the leading papers :" The Secretary of the ' Great
Cumberlidge Railway presents his
compliments to the Editor of the
-, and regrets to say that an
accident of a serious nature has
occurred on this line, resulting in
the loss of five lives, and injuries
o over twenty passengers. The
line has been cleared, and traffic
Is being carried on as usual."
The secretary of the ' Great
Cumberlidge' would have been
very glad if the papers had taken
were what the no more notice of the matter; but
T HESE items set out on their their vocation being to enter into
newspapers
boards one autumn morning, as particulars, some added one bit of
their bill of fare for the day. Information, and some another;
About four o'clock the_ mnu intil at last the public knew all
would be changed, when those
bout who the people were who
who could not live until the next had been killed, and who wounmorning without "some new' ded, and what the nature of their
thing" would have something wounds; and the secretary of the

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES.

'Great Cumberlidge' smote upon
his breast as he read that, amongst
the injured were some whose cases
would probably involve heavy
damages, notably that of Dr.
Dawes, who was travelling from
London by the 'Great Cumberlidge' to see a patient in the
country. The secretary of the
'GreatCumberlidge' saw breakfast,
dinner, and supper, and lunch,
and a Continential trip during the
vacation, for some of the gentlemen of the long robe, in that
ominous paragraph.
There was one paper, however,
which took possession of Dr.
Dawes as its peculiar perquisitethat was the Scalpel-an organ
of the profession. It informed
the public that, it deeply regretted to have to announce that,
amongst those most seriously injured was Dr. Dawes, of Claremont Street. The Doctor was
lying in Cumberlidge County
Hospital, and was attended by
Dr. L. Morgan and Drs. Rees and
Jones. He was suffering from
concussion of the base of the
brain, with compound fracture of
both bones of the right fore-arm,
simple fracture of the lower end
of the left humerus, and simple
fracture of both bones of the left
leg; and the former eminent surgeon, while not despairing of his
life, gives no hopes of his ever
being other than a cripple, or of
his being able to resume the practice of his profession. "The cutting short of the career of this

rising physician will be a serious
loss not only to the Doctor's
patients, but to the whole profession. We can only hope that,
should his life be spared, he may
be able to pursue in private those
investigations, for which the profession already owe him so much.
What adds to the misfortune in
this particular is the fact that, Dr.
Dawes' marriage was to have
taken place within a very short
time."
The public heard from time to
time in the general newspapers
how the Doctor was going on;
those who cared to know very
particularly about him were kept
well informed by the Scalpel,
which kept on at him, until, to
its intense mortification and disgust, the Doctor, having got on
far enough to go about on crutches,
suddenly disappeared from the
Scalpel's view ; never even leaving
a card with address for the editor,
or a line of thanks for the minute
attentions he had been paid. The
secretary of the hospital, however,
had not, so far as the thanks went,
a like complaint to make. A note
with £100 in it for the use of
the hospital showed that it was
not parting with an ungrateful
patient; but the Doctor gave no
address.
The invalid carriage
which took him away, bore him
indeed to London, but not to his
own house ; and the Doctor had so
contrived things that he could
not be traced.
Only one person knew where

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES.

to find him, and that was his
solicitor. It was necessary that,
he should know where he was,
owing to a correspondence which
had to be carried on with
the 'Great Cumberlidge' Railway,
which, for reasons of its own, went
privately into the case, and paid
heavy damages-very heavy'-rather than go into court. The
'
GreatCumberlidge' did this in all
the cases in this particular affair,
for the accident had resulted from
gross carelessness; and, being a
pleasure line to a great extent, it
was advisable to keep up its name
as a safe one, as much as possible,
and not to allow the public to be
nervous about travelling on it.
With this sum, and a little he
had inherited, and a little he had
saved-not much in that way, for
the Doctor had made an appearance in London life, which can
only be done at a price; and had
moreover put out some orphaned
brothers in the world-Doctor
Dawes retired from practice, from
hope, from life, from everything;
and sought a home in some
country depth. The ladder of
life which the Doctor had been
climbing so successfully had
broken in one of its rounds; and
the bottom, not the top, was to
be his lot for the future-he lay
at its foot the battered, helpless,
bitter-spirited, smashed-up remnants of a man. At least so he
said, for so he thought. "'Pah !"
he exclaimed, with almost disgust,
as he hobbled past a glass in his

room, and paused for a moment
and saw his 'crooked arm and
crooked legs, " the remnants of
Dr. Dawes !"
Hither and thither the Doctor
wandered, ere he pitched on a
home. For where could he now
find a 'home' ? He carried about
with him, in the form of a letter
which he received at the hospital,
a demon of unrest. Houses he
might have here, and there, and
anywhere-houses with myrtle
and roses, and jessamine, and ivy,
clinging lovingly to their outward
walls, with fire upon the hearths,
and pictures on the walls; but
" What hast thou to do with
'home '?" was a haunting voice
which, though he sought rest,
said that he should find none; for
all that would have made home to
him was lost to him for ever. At
least, so his demon said-and so
he said himself. And do not evil
spirits speak to us too; and do not
we also speak to ourselves bitter
and ungodlike words ? " There
is no hope," man may say. "In
my horizon I see no hope;" but
man is ever moving forward, and
a new horizon opens; and who
may say, ' In no horizon of my
future is there any hope" ?
At last the Doctor found a
house on the side of a commona wild, bushy, unkempt common,
over which his fellow creatures
seldom came, except to make it
look more unkempt still, by tearing at its furze for firing-and
there he pitched, or perched, or

THtE REMNANTS

anything you like--for he would
not let you say heI " lived;" for
life, as he thought, had passed
away from him--he "'existed " if
you pleased---but lived, no I

II.-DIFFERENT VIEWS.
THE Scalpel, like many others of
its kind, sometimes knew too
much. It did so in the matter of
Dr. Dawes' intended immediate
marriage. It was quite true that
the Doctor would in all probability have soon been married, for
he would probably have soon been
engaged, and once engaged there
would not have been anything to
cause delay; for his profession
would have supplied him with
ample means ; and the young lady
for whom he was on the point of
proposing would certainly have
some fortune of her own; besides
'" great expectations," as folk say,
from an old uncle who had left her
a good sum of money. It is true
the will was disputed, but there
could be no doubt how the suit
would end.
The Doctor had an appointment
at Mrs. Clifford's for the very day
after he was wrecked in the Cumberlidge railway accident; but,
owing to his being injured so
terribly, he was unable to keep it.
There had been no mention at
first of the Doctor's name in the
daily papers, and the Scalpel did
did not come out until the end of
the week, so Theodosia Clifford

OF DR. DAWE 9.

waited and waited for her expected visitor on the appointed
day, but he never came.
Theodosia was the child, the
only child, of an old man-a
good old man-who galvanised
himself into matrimony at mature
age, or rather, let us say, was galvanised, when we take into account
the youthful go and energy of the
lady who made herself Mrs. Clifford. She was a scheming, worldly
woman; she had her own ideas
about Theodosia's father, and carried them out; she had the like
with regard to Theodosia herself;
and intended to carry them out
too.
She was carrying them out with
Dr. Dawes, and all was going
well, until this terrible smash
came; and what broke up Dr.
Dawes, broke off the match.
Theodosia Clifford's father was
a good man, and he looked upon
his little girl as a gift to him
from heaven. Moreover, he wished
not to forget as soon as possible
that he had had this gift; and he
determined to call his child Theodosia-God's gift; and Mrs.
Clifford, in a moment of pardonable weakness (for she had not
yet quite.' got up her strength');
allowed him to have his own way.
Mrs. Clifford always looked upon
this in after life as a standing
warning against momentary weaknesses-the idea, like sal-volatile,
would always bring her to.
Poor Theo's life had been in
some respects a vexed, because a

THE REMNANTS

double one. She was a house
divided against itself. She was
in part the father, and in part the
mother; she was what she was
made by the teaching of the one,
and the other.
The good man had taught her
to admire what was noble, the
mother to admire what was handsome; he had talked to her of a
mission in life; and she had told
her that woman's great mission
was to make the best match she
could; he had spoken to her of
patient waiting; she of eager
grasping; he had told her of the
blessedness of serving others; she
had taught her to look upon all
others as sent into the world to
serve her; and so the poor girl
was now one thing, and now
another; and now a contradiction
made up of her two opposite selves.
Theodosia Clifford's mourning
for her father was yet scarce put
off; it had shaded into grey, and
very soon she hoped the last tinge
of the grey would fade away into
bridal white.
There was a second suitor for
Theodosia Clifford's hand-an
officer, with great expectations,
without any doubt handsome,
young too; and had it pot been
that Mrs. Clifford was very well
content with Dr. Dawes' prospects,
just the very man for her daughter.
Bell after bell rang; there was
no knocker to the door, but there
was one to Theodosia Clifford's
heart; and, whenever the bell rang
that knocker knocked, but every

OF DR. DAWES.

ring and every knock was a disappointment-no lover came.
But the mother's spirit rose, and
when two long hours had passed,
and it was now luncheon time,
even if the Doctor had arrived he
might have met with a frame of
mind ill-fitted for the finishing of
his suit.
At last a ring came, and a
double knock too, but it was
Captain Henry--Captain Henry,
whose creed was that, everything
was fair in love and war-that it
was no more harm in love to steal
a heart, than in war to steal a
goose--I am not sure that to steal
the goose would not in his eyes
have been the more heinous crime
of the two-and he played his
cards so well that, he dined at
Mrs. Clifford's that day; and went
home with a general invitation
into the bargain.
That invitation Captain Henry
did not intend to remain a dead
letter; and where poor Dr. Dawes
was not-for how could he be,
seeing he was lying insensible in
Cumberlidge Hospital ? - there
the Captain was-in Theodosia
Clifford's drawing-room, picking
and stealing her heart.
Whether he could have succeeded at last, I shall not take
upon myself to say. I have lived
long enough to see that no man
can tell what may be, or what may
not be, in such things, until it
actually happens. Suffice it to
say that, the Captain paid court to
mother as well as daughter, and

THE REMNANTS

found in her a ready friend. For
Mrs. Clifford, like all strongminded women, had a woman's
weak point; and that, in the usual
place-her vanity was flatteredshe was vulnerable, that was all.
And Mrs. Clifford helped the
Captain effectually. She got sight
of the Scalpel; she found that the
Doctor was smashed up; and
she sent that terrible letter to the
poor man, which he received when
he was well enough to read anything; and which drove him forth
a lone heart to the lone house
where we saw him last.
Good Mrs. Clifford ! she was
quite equal to the occasion. She
sent it to the Doctor's private
residence, marked "Private. On
family matters," and put it in a
second envelope, and marked all
"To be forwarded," so that no
one opened it; and it was kept
until the Doctor was well enough
to attend to his affairs.
The letter was simple enough.
It contained a few lines of regret
at the accident-it stated that the
writer was aware that, that
accident would involve disfigurement for life-that the circumstances under which Dr. Dawes
had been allowed to visit at her
house as a suitor for her daughter
were now altered; and that he
must consider the acquaintance
at an end. It added that, Mrs.
Clifford and her daughter were
about immediately to start for the
Continent; and that, the time of
their return was quite uncertain.

OF DR. DAWES.

And so they went to the Continent-Mrs. Clifford, and her
daughter; and Captain Henry too.
At first Theodosia Clifford was
incessant in her enquiries about
the Doctor, but as they were
always met by her mother with
the one answer, "You had better
not ask, my dear," she gradually
gave up asking.
And there were two or three
reasons for this; first, and foremost, the thought took possession
of her mind that, the Doctor was
implicated in something wrongthat only could be the explanation of his mysterious absence.
Secondly, the volatile and selfish
part of her character was now
uppermost; and the wise and
faithful sayings of the old man
who was gone, were drowned for
the time; and thirdly there was
the new lover at hand almost
every moment. And these all
together were too much; and six
months from the time of the 'Great
Cumberlidge'accidentfound Theodosia Clifford engaged to the Hon.
Captain Henry-impecunious, indeed, at present, but the heir
apparent to a peerage-a gentleman to whom so lovely a girl as
Theodosia Clifford could not but
be acceptable as a bride; and to
whom her fortune, which she was
now on the point of obtaining,
would be of more than some little
use.
The suit about Theodosia's
uncle's will was now on the point
of settlement; and she would be

THEI EMNANTS OF DR. DAWES

an heiress in purse, as well as in
face.
Theodosia was heiress to something else too-a property worth
both the rest, but she could not
come into that yet awhile; she
must be under tutors and governors until the time of inheritance
came; and when it did come, it is
to be feared that the Hon. Captain
would not have cared much to
share in it.
But he never had a chance.
For the whirligig of human
affairs, which turns round so
rapidly at times, and pitches
people out in such unceremonious
fashion when they think they
have a firm seat, suddenly brought
the news one post that another
quirk had come uppermost about
the will; and that the whole
affair would have to be begun
again, and the lawyers could not
tell when it would end.
" Hum ! " said the Captain ;
" this won't do for me." And he
twiddled his moustache into a
letter co, and lit a second cigarette to promote meditation, and
put himself into a judicial frame
of mind; and as the last puff
ascended, away with it fleeted
the approaching wedding. The
Captain found he had at once to
rejoin his regiment, and the regiment went to India immediately
after; and in spite of the heat of
the climate whence they came,
the notes which arrived from him
were very cold; and from few,
they became fewer, until at last

they disappeared, and with them
this chapter of life came to an end.
Theodosia Clifford had lightly
given up one lover, and lightly
had another given her up ; she had
reaped as she sowed--reaped-but a seed which could be sown
again, and from the sowing of
which could come life-fruit in
very truth.
As to the Captain, all that was
ever heard of him again was that,
he was about to be married to the
Begum of Blugpore, who would
give him as many elephants to
ride on as he liked, and as many
gold mohurs as he chose to spend;
but when he rode on one elephant,
she would always ride on another,
by his side, and never let the
Captain ten minutes out of her
sight.
III.-A NOSEGAY.
THE lonely house on the common
held what were indeed but the
remnants of a man; and that man
was Dr. Dawes. There were but
two persons in the outer world
with whom he held communication, the one his lawyer, the other
a brother doctor, who, though
younger than himself, had shown
a special talent for what Dr.
Dawes had been so great in himself, when in practice--the treatment of fevers. On that subject
the two physicians kept up continual correspondence; the Doctor
spending much of his time in
writing on the cases he had

to

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DA WES.

known, and his theories connected
with them ; and the younger man
often sending him an account of
new cases of interest, and asking
his advice.
This, so far as it went, was
some little alleviation to the loneliness of the hermit man; but it
was little indeed. "Am I not
but the remnants of a man?" was
his melancholy thought, as he
dragged himself out day by day
to his favourite seat in a sunny
spot under a thorn-bush. " Profession gone, health gone, appearance gone, usefulness gone,
wife gone, home gone, all gone;
and these crippled limbs are all
that's left of me-the remnants
of Dr. Dawes-useless, hopeless,
helpless-the pitiful remnants of
a man."

" Doest thou well to be angry ?"
was the voice which came to
Jonah ; and heaven and earth
were preparing to teach him that
he did not. The gourd and the
worm on earth, and the sun and
east wind in the heavens, were in
union to vindicate the ways of
God with man.
And heaven and earth helped
the remnants of Dr. Dawes; and
took the battered fragments of the
man, marred for earth, to re-make
for heaven.
Round about, what I might
almost call Dr. Dawes' hidingplace, were many wild flowers;
and over his head, the May was out
in full blossom. And presently,
the Doctor's gloomy thoughts,

which the wild flowers and the
May, if he had taken notice of
them at all, would have only
made worse, were diverted by a
rustling at the back of the thick
bush at one side of which he sat.
:He turned round, and peered
through, and listened; and there
he saw a small, pale child, a
cripple like himself.
He was
picking some of the May, choosing
his bunches with great care; and
then he gathered all the wild
flowers within his reach, and sat
down to make them into a nosegay. The Doctor kept watching
him through the bush, and wondered, first of all, at the care and
pains bestowed on the work, and
then at its result-; for as the boy
held up the nosegay to take a
final look at it before tying it up,
the Doctor could see that it was
no common taste that had grouped
its parts.
The Doctor coughed to draw
the child's attention, and presently
the boy came round to see whence
the noise came.
" Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,"
said the child. " I did not know
any one was here, or I should
have gone away."
" Nay, my lad, the common is
yours as well as mine and the
donkeys' yonder," added the
Doctor, somewhat bitterly. "I
suppose you sell your nosegays;
and how much will you get for
that ? "
The pale face reddened, but the
child's voice was unchanged.

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES.

ii '.

'

It

7>

1

/I.

I2

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES.

' If you like to have the nosegay, sir, you can have it with
pleasure; and I will pick Jessie
another. No one buys my nosegays; I give them all away."
"And who is Jessie ? and why
do you give your nosegays away ?"
"Jessie's father drinks all day,
sir, and Jessie is always in bed ill.
She is eight years old, sir, and has
blue eyes and fair hair, and has
no mother. I can go and see her
always, even when her father is
drunk. He would kill any one
else, but he never hurts me.
Jessie says the angels take care
of me. My father has the little
baker's shop as you go into the
village, and he gives me a bun
every day for Jessie, or I think
she'd starve; but she likes the
flowers more than the bun. And
to-day I have a penny for her; I
had it from the shepherd for
standing at the top of the lane,
and stopping the sheep from going
down."
"And I suppose you're in love
with Jessie," said the Doctor bitterly; "and that's why you give
her flowers. I once used to give
a lady flowers."
" Oh, yes, sir, I love Jessie very
much, for the doctor says she'll
soon be gone, so I make haste to
do all I can for her before she
goes; and she has promised to
tell Jesus Christ all about every
nosegay I give her. She says
she'll be in heaven a long time
before me, and will know Jesus
Christ well enough to talk to, and

she'll say when I come, 'This is
my friend whom You used to send
to me with cakes and flowers.' "
"You see, sir," said the boy,
stooping, and speaking confidentially, " I'm Christ's messenger,
and though I'm only a poor
cripple, when Jessie smells the
flowers and eats the buns, it
doesn't matter whether it was a
cripple who brought them, or not.
She has the pleasure of them-that's the thing."
The child made a"
"gentleman'sborn " bow, as best he could,, on
his crutch, and moved away; and
with his chin on his two hands
the Doctor watched him, and as
the boy got far enough away from
him to see earth and heaven in
one glance, the Doctor saw a
sunlit cloud, blown, no doubt, by
the wind, which lay that way,
slowly moving far, far, high up,
always over the child with the
nosegay, the penny, aid the bun.
'Twas a funny thought that
Heaven should care for a nosegay,
a penny, and a bun; but as the
Doctor had often seen what looked
like wolves, and dragons, and
powers of the air, in the murky
clouds which were abroad in
storm-time, so now he saw what
was so like an angel, with outstretched wings, that, he could
not take his eyes off it, until the
child was out of sight at the
other end of the common, and
the-whatever it was that was
floating in the clear blue sky,
had melted away. The Doctor

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DA WES.

then looked up, and right over
his own head was a mass of
sunlit cloud, and there flashed
across his mind the vision of the
Great White Throne. And the
Judge sat upon it, and the people
who should give account before
it. What would He who sat
thereon say by-and-by to him?
There, Jonah-like, sat Dr.
Dawes, only not to be taught by
the withered gourd of a dead
past; but by the blossoms of the
present, and the hopes of the
Were there not still
future.
flowers on earth which even
crippled hands could pull for
others ? Were there not ties of
love, other than those that bound
flesh and blood ? Were there
not ministries and missions for
Was there not a
the weak ?
heaven in which to win recognition of love ? Was all lost, so
long as a man was left his reason,
and his God? And had not he
his skill and knowledge left?
Had not he money for more than
Then
his own daily wants?
flashed across his mind the oftread text, " Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing
be lost "-fragments of humanity,
fragments of powers, fragmentsit may be twelve baskets full,
said an inward voice. " Amen,"
said the crippled man, and henceforth so was it to be with the
remnants of Dr. Dawes.

IV.-A DIFFICULT CASE.
DR. DAWES now saw what, with
all his talent, he had never seen
before; and now Theodosia Clifford was, with all her beauty, no
longer to see what she had seen
before. There are some circles
which are described with one
sweep of a compass; there are
others which have to be formed
by the bending together of opposite ends.
And how was Theodosia Clifford bent ?-even as the Doctor
had been-by the even pressure
of sorrow.
Five years had now elapsed,
and Dr. Dawes was forty years of
age, and Theodosia Clifford was
five-and-twenty.
These five years had brought
the Doctor the peace of a new
life. The little cripple and Jessie
(whose life he had been the
means of prolonging up to the
present, in spite of the frequent
declarations of the parish doctor
that she should have died long
ago) had taught him the luxury
of doing good; and from one to
another his fame had gone, until
he was known as the poor mai's
doctor, and the poor man's friend.
He found that he had a head left,
and a heart left, and the means
of blessing those whose blessings
seemed but few. He might, indeed, in one sense, be but the
remnants of a man; but in another,
he was a new man altogether.
And he was at peace. His world

24

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES.

w'as a new one, and he was new
in it.
But there had been no such
years of happiness for Theodosia
Her mother, disapClifford.
pointed in the matter of the new
match, which she had proposed
for her daughter, and conscious
that wrong lay at her door in the
matter of Dr. Dawes, was for a
long time before her death fretful,
and a burden to herself and others.
Moreover, the re-opening of the
Chancery proceedings in the
matter of her brother-in-law's property was a continual worry; for
now it seemed as though riches
would come, and now as though
they would go.
At last Mrs. Clifford broke up;
but it was not until she was on
her death-bed that she revealed
to her daughter the true story of
Dr. Dawes. The mistaken woman
was now grievously sorry for
what she had done, but she had
no means for reparation. It was
a long time since they had been
in England--most likely the
Doctor was dead--and even if he
were not, he must be a hopeless
cripple, wherever he was.
-And so she died; and Theodosia Clifford was left on the
world with a heart pulled to
pieces with a life blase with the
gaieties out of which all enjoyment had long since passed away
-with no prospect and no retrospect of peace; and with an aimless, vacant, listless " now,
which made each day only one

more item added to the burden of
"living "---we will not say of
" life."
In this state Theodosia Clifford returned to London-a vague
longing to re-link herself to the
past, stealing over her heart-a
wonder in her mind as to whether
her old lover was still alive; and,
strange to say, a longing, a yearning to know something about him
again.
At last, wearied, and worn, she
fell into low fever; and Dr.
Jacob, the great fever doctor of
the day, attended her. It was
hard work to fight disease in
mind, and body, both; and the
doctor found his patient slipping
through his fingers.
At last, in his distress, he
applied to his unfailing adviser
in all complicated cases of fever;
and without mentioning any
names, implored the Doctor to
come up, and see this patient.
It was sorely against the will
of Dr. Dawes that, he left his
common home, and poor folk,
even for a day or two; but
doctors are chary of life, and
he went.
And there, not conscious of his
presence, he saw laid before him
his early love.
But he was calm-quite calm
-he had now a peace within,
which no disturbing influence
outside could break.
"Jacob," said Dr. Dawes,
" your patient willnot die-but,
but-she will become blind."

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DA WES.

" What, those lovely eyes ?"
said the Doctor-" never ! "
" Yes!" said Dr. Dawes, " no
human skill can save them-but
-but," he added, musingly, " we
may become blind, to see."
Then Dr. Dawes told his
brother physician his views on
the case; and, having again taken
one long look at the unconscious
girl, went his way.
There were weary weeks of
anxiety for Dr. Jacob, and weary
weeks of convalescence to his
patient, as,with many alternations,
she slowly mended; and at last
was well-well-but there was
degeneration of the optic nerve
-- she was blind. Health in its
fulness returned, and the Chancery suit ended favourably, and
Theodosia Clifford was as beautiful as ever, and far richer-but,
sight was gone.
But a new vision was to open
before her. Full of thankfulness
to the one, who, she thought, had
saved her life, she was pressing
on her physician a large remembrance, when he said, " Let him
who deserves the honour have it.
You owe your life not to me, but
to my friend, who sacrificed his
own strongest feelings in leaving
his retirement, even for a day, to
come and see you."
"And who was he, Doctor?
.that I may go myself and thank
him."
"You never heard his name.
He now lives in retirement; but
he was once our one great autho-

rity in fever cases. His name
is Dawes-Dr. Dawes."

V.--A NEW LIFE.
did Dr. Dawes think,
when he spoke of the possibility
of Theodosia Clifford's having
new sight, that with it she should
see himself--no cripple, no remnants of a man-but ever as she
had seen him in olden time-in
the prime of manhood. She had
never seen him as a cripple; he
was ever the same as she remembered him in the past. So far
as that. went, her eye was the
eye of memory; but now she had
another sight wherewith she saw
and admired him as she had never
seen, and admired him before-a
man whom sorrow had purged,
and thereby Heaven had consecrated to highest uses.
Theodosia Clifford told Dr.
Jacob all; and Dr. Jacob, who
believed that there were other
diseases to be cured besides those
of the body, took this in hand.
" Doctor, there is nothing I
can offer him; he would scorn
my whole fortune if I offered
it."
Happily there was a woman at
hand.
"Yes," said Mrs. Jacob, who
was present; "yes, your fortune,
but not yourself:"
" Ah, that is not worth the
having now. I know I am rich,
and I know, oh, how well, that
LITTLE

z6

THE REMNANTS OF DR. DAWES

now I see as I never saw before
Theodosia Clifford
-but-and
stopped, and her face crimsoned,
" Yes, I will say it: I know he
admired my beauty; I am sightless. Can I be beautiful still ?
I will never offer him a
wreck."
It is generally easy to persuade
ladies that they are beautiful,
but it was not so easy here ; but
assured by her friends that she
was, Theodosia Clifford said, " If
he will have me now, he shall
have all."

dark stream of sorrow in different
places, but they walked together
at the other side.
Theodosa Clifford changed
but her second name; she was
a God's gift to this stricken
man, and to those to whom he
ministered. More than one life
which his skill could not stay on
earth, seemed to float away on
the bosom of the hymn with which
she soothed the parting pain.
And so they lived, and so at
last they died, blessing and
blessed of all.
And learn you hence, good
reader, that vessels may be marred
It was a wonderful sight to only to be re-made-vessels meet
see that crippled man leaning, for the Master's service, vessels
heavily enough it is true, on the for impouring from heaven, for
arm of that lovely woman;
outpouring on earth, after the
he, eyes to her; and she, a
example of this sightless girl,
strong arm to him. They had and
each died to one life, to live
another. They had passed the THE REMNANTS OF .DR. DAWES.

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.
BY THE

REV.

P.

Author of

B.
'
"

POWER,

M.A.,

The Oiled Feather," &c.

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.
ugly wooden poles, just as we
ourselves are often linked to some
be iron in the great Cranloch humble instrument, when we are
mine, or to guess why there fulfilling the high purposes of
should be iron there, and not a God.
scrap five miles off. I was not
But you want to hear the story,
present in those old times when and I will not keep you from it
the earth was seething and boil- by dwelling upon such thoughts
ing, making up this world of ours as these, though I hope you may
with metal and mud; it is no pick up some such as we go along,
part of my vocation to guess at for all things speak ; they sigh;
what iron is, or whence iron came; they sing; and as of old, so is it
or anything about itbelow ground. now: " He tiat hath an ear to
I have now only to do with some- hear, let him hear."
thing about it above ground-inYou understand, then, that
deed, more than that, up in the you are going to hear about a
air, where the particular iron of telegraph wire - a common,
which I have to speak, supported straight, black-looking, ugly, iron
no doubt, by poles, owing to its telegraph wire, such as you may
deference to the laws of gravity, see any day stretching along the
occupies an elevated position--a dusty road-the very embodiment
very different one from that which of what is prosy, and commonit held for hundreds of years, place.
when it existed as dull ironstone
As used and worked by man,
in the dark bosom of the Cranloch this wire is but a common carrier.
mine. Like many of ourselves, It would do almost anything for
it had to be smelted, and passed you in the way, shall I say, of
through the furnace, and drawn running messages, for one shilling,
out with a tremendous tension, Sometimes you had to give it a
before it could be used for the little more; but it submitted,
transmission of invisible fires, and patiently and uncomplainingly,
put to subtle issues; but suffice to carrying even the worst Engit to say, it had been so smelted lish for one shilling-when unand drawn out, and lifted up on skilful people cut down their

I Al not going therepretend to
tell you how to
came

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

messages to get them into twenty
words, and sometimes did not
even make them sense.
Now that cheaper telegrams
have come in, it makes no complaint, but continues its quiet
course of usefulness; and will
do so, until telegraphs are no
more.
But t'here are other powers
abroad besides those of man; and
sometimes they lay hold of man's
appliances-yes, even of man
himself-and use them for their
own purposes, be they good or
bad; and so it comes to pass that,
there comes to be sung the "Song
of the Iron Wire."
Archibald Halibut stood six
feet two, and had been a mighty
man even in the Grenadiers.
He had "smelt powder," as the
saying is, and was a fine fellow,
take him all round. For Archibald Halibut's broad shoulders
were surmounted with a head,
the inside of which had plenty of
brains, and the outside visage of
which was such as said, " This
is no double-faced man; he has
but one visage, and that says,
' He is not to be trifled with.' "
It was believed in the regiment
that Archibald, if he had his
rights, .ought to be some great
man; and though he never said
anything about it, this was his
own opinion too. 'Might' is often
stronger than 'right;' and the
sergeant of Grenadiers might have
been " my lord " if a little packet
of papers had not been thrown

into the fire by a man the very
image of himself, some five-andthirty years before; and if a
gentle girl who never saw her
twentieth summer had not died,
meek and uncomplaining, and
broken-hearted, on her own hillside, all those long years ago.
If everyone had his own,
Archibald Halibut would have
been a lord-but in this world
everyone does not get his own;
and so it came to pass that, instead of being an officer and a
lord, Halibut never knew higher
rank in this world than that of
being a sergeant of Grenadiers.
By reason, I suppose, of the
laws of heredity,
Sergeant
Archibald Halibut had in him
the
both the father
and
mother; and by reason of these
he was a kind of double man.
But his luck was to have some of
the mother in him. He had no
luck in anything that came by
the father's side. It was from
the mother that he got that smile,
which now and again played
about the corner of his mouth,
and from her that kindly light,
which at times beamed'so softly
in his eye. Oh ! when Archibald Halibut was his mother, the
smallest infant in the regiment
could play with him, as if he were
a toy; but when he was his
father, then the more space people
left round him the better.
I suppose it was by reason of
inheritance from his father that
Halibut loved his liquor; and
could carry as much of it on

20

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

parade as any man, without
a wink of his eye, or falter
of his foot.
Sergeant Archibald Halibut was a mighty
man in drink. But strong drink
is sure to conquer strong men in
the long run; and though it may
take a long time to batter down
the walls of an iron constitution,
strong drink carries on the siege,
until the fatal breach is made;
and then the town is sacked and
the fortification is dismantled;
and so much of humanity is
lost.
Hard by the barrack gate
there was a little shop-a poor
dark-looking place, with books-old books--all round it, and
principally old books outside it
-all was old there; an old, old
man kept the shop, and owned
the stock; and the whole place
looked as though, if anything
were to be sold, old, old folk from
bygone generations must come
out of their graves to buy. All
that was there that was not old
was the bookseller's daughter;
and only eighteen winters had
passed over her head, and every
one of them had refused to
make any manner of mark
upon her; and the eighteen
summers which belonged to
them, left each, only a little
fresh touch of glow on her, as they
sped along, well satisfied with so
fair a chronicle that they had
come, and gone, and left, thus
far at least, a fair testimony
behind.
Joshua Hardwick lived amid

his old books-it was his good
luck that, in this world of rates
and taxes, and billing people in
every way, he had not to live on
them. Many and many a month
they would not have furnished
him with a pint of milk, to say
nothing of a mutton chop. Indeed, this was the strangest bookshop anywhere to be found, for
its keeper was often more sorry
than otherwise when he parted
with some of his stock; and
there stood on his shelves some
books marked with fabulous
prices, which were for the purpose of scaring off purchasers
-for these were Margery Hardwick's favourite volumes; and it
was a part of the old man's creed
that, what she wished to keep, no
one else should have.
Ah ! Margery, you were like
your sex-you were a hero-worshipper-what was great, that
was what your spirit longed after
-what was big and strong and
firm-the stout heart, and the
strong hand, and the brave spirit
-and withal, the touch of tenderness and love-only with all the
What
might, and strength.
made you love the old knights in
the old books? The song of the
wind amid the leaves of the giant
oak branches was what would
suit you, not the same song if
sung in the leaves of the long,
bending poplars-swaying to and
fro, instead of defying the mighty
blast.
Not that you were strong yourself, Margery-you were gentle

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

and timid; and had you lived in
the old, old times of the old, old
books, you would have been
satisfied to have been the maid
delivered by the knight from
some dreadful thrall; and serving
him with the devotion of a gentle
life, until that life should be no
more.
Margery Hardwick was her
father's constant companion. She
sat in a little parlour behind the
shop most of the day--a little
parlour cunningly contrived, as
though it were a lady's bower in
some old enchanter's storehouse
of strange and undaylike things.
There she sewed, and sang, and
read old-world stories ; and now
and again answered to her name
as her father called to her, just
to hear her voice; for he really
wanted nothing at all.
It was right into this shop that
Sergeant Halibut strode one
winter's day. He brought in
with him a book which he had
picked out from the shelves
just inside the door; it was a
book on ancient families, and had
on the inside cover the Halibut
crest.
" What is the price of this " ? he
asked.
" Let me see," said the old man,
adjusting his spectacles. "The
price of that book is ten shillings
-too dear, friend, I fear, for you;
but what can you want with it ?
There-there," said old Joshua,
"there is what will suit you
better; " and he handed him a book
of songs, one of the very few books

of the kind which he had in his
shop; and which had come there,
tied up in an auction lot with
others.
The sergeant gave the old bookseller a look which made him
straight off six weeks an older
man, and said-" If I wanted songs I should
have asked for them-perhaps we
soldiers know too many of them
already; and though a man need
not say what he wants with a
thing when he buys it, still, I'll
tell you, friend, what I want of
that book. You see it has the
Halibut arms there.
Well, I'm
a Halibut; and if I were where I
ought to be, it may be that I
should be the head of all the Halibuts; and as I belong to an old
family myself, I like to read of
such. I can't know anything
of them, but in books.
It
may be that the Halibut who
owned this one had a like fancy
with myself. No doubt he had,"
said the sergeant, turning on to
the title-page, " for look you here,
this book was not only owned by
Samuel Halibut, but was written
by him. I can't pay you your
price now, friend; but if you'll
keep the book for me, I'll call for
it before long."
" Ay, I'll promise to keep it for
you," said the bookseller, " for I
warrant you there won't be many
coming after it;" and the soldier
made a step or two towards the
door.
"Stay, friend," said the old
man, " stay a moment; " for he

22

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

thought he had caught a whisper
of his name from the neighbourhood of the parlour door, which
he had not seen to be open, and he
had turned thither to know what
was wanted.
It was Margery's voice that had
whispered; and now she said in
her father's ear, "Let him take
the book; and tell him you will
lend it to him, or that he can come
again and pay for it." She would
have said, " Tell him you make
him a present of it;" but that,
she knew, would be no use ; so she
went the nearest to it she could.
When Margery Hardwick retired into her little parlour, and
shut the door, she began to sing
one of old Joshua's favourite songs
in the low, sweet voice which was
the old man's daily music, and
daily joy. One song after another
she sang, and thought that only
her father was listening to her;
she thought the stranger had gone
away.
But the first sweet note had
bound him as with a spell; and,
under pretence of looking at now
this book, and now that, as many
another did, he waited until he
had heard to the very end. Then,
pushing the last book he had been
handling into its place, he wished
the old bookseller good-bye; and
told him he should see him soon
again.
Archibald Halibut was but little
used to hear such songs as the one
he had just been listening to in
the old bookseller's shop. Songs
enough he knew-rollicking songs

and jolly songs, and songs which
had better have been left unsung
by lip of man at all; and even
" Home, Sweet Home " he knew
in words, and certain sounds;
though not the sounds he had just
heard. And so, slowly and meditatively, the Grenadier paced his
way back to the barracks, where he
soon made himself very disagreeable, by refusing to associate himself with certain old friends as he
used to do; and by keeping himself to himself more than he had
ever done before.
The mother-nature had floated
upward in him, borne to the surface by that song of home; and
it was ill fitted for the boisterous
noise which too often was around.
From that day out the Grenadier
became more and more solitaryhe kept more and more to himself
in barrack; and when he went
out, it was always alone. And
then, his steps were turned towards
the bookseller's house-there was
some kind of spell on him which
drew him thither. There was no
harm in turning over the old books
on the outside shelf, and in listening to as much as he could pick
up of the sweet sounds which so
often came to him from within.
At last, Archibald Halibut came
to pay for his book, and when he
put down his moneythe bookseller
said to him, "Well, friend, I hope
you will think you've had the
The
worth of your money.
Halibuts were a fine family. That
account of old Sir Geoffrey, and
how he delivered the three damsels

I

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

"Under the pretence of looking atnow this book and now that, he waited."-page 22.

23

24

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRB.

from the giant, though perhaps
only a legend in the family, is very
fine. My daughter knows it by
heart; and, I warrant you, could
repeat it to you line for line. She
makes great store of all brave
deeds; all women do. If you want
a woman to love you, kill somebody, or save somebody, or swallow poison, or jump off a bridge
into the river; but do something,
do something-that's the way all
those knights used to be fallen in
love with by the damsels of olden
time."
" Well,"said Archibald Halibut,
I've killed somebody, and I've
saved somebody; but I've never
found a woman to love me yet'T-was in fair fight; and if there's
blood upon my hand, there's none
upon my soul; for the rascal and
his men had taken the poor women
and children, and gave them up
to me and my comrades only with
their lives." And the Grenadier
gave the bookseller the whole
history of the matter.
"My dear, my dear," said old
Joshua Hardwick that evening,
when the shop was shut, and both
were in the little parlour at their
supper, I've met with a match for
old Sir Geoffrey Halibut, and his
name is Halibut too." Thenhetold
the girl all the soldier's tale, and,
foolish old man ! dropped into her
heart the seeds of the very harvest
which, of all others, he did not
wish to reap.
Oh, silly Joshua Hardwick!
why had you not more sense than
to think that a woman will take

at second hand such tales as these,
when she may have them at first
hand instead ? Oh, simple Joshua!
to think that your poor quavering
lips would satisfy, when the hero
could be had in flesh and blood
to tell his own story. Oh, Joshua
Hardwick! you lived too much
among your old books, and forgot
that, imprisoned among them, you
had a human heart which, like
all human hearts, had, unknown
to itself, great yearnings to be
free; even though it were only
with the freedom of the ivy, to
creep upward, and cling and
twine, so as it can do this in the
sunshine, and the air; and
clinging, and twining, and not
independent growth, are its
nature's law.
Oh, Joshua! poor withered
stick ! soon to totter, soon to fall;
there is a vigour of growth in
young life which can never be
sustained by such as you. It will
cover you, but it will overtop you,
and overdrop, and leave you behind; you will keep your share,
papas, and you yours, mammas,
but the growth keeps onstretching, stretching out. It is
very naughty, but it is life.
Well, Joshua Hardwick, you
could deny your Margery nothing;
and so it came to pass that, after
various preliminaries which I cannot set down, this Archibald Halibut, this mixture of an eagle and
a dove-how much eagle, by the
father, I dare not say; but a dash
of the dove, by the mother, I must
surely note-sat down with your-

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

self-wise old bird !-and your
little dovey to tea.
And I am bound to say you
behaved yourself as the finest
old Halibut could have wished
you to do. If that old gentleman in Court costume over the
chimney-piece in Halibut Hall,
could have been made a fourth
party in that little parlour that
evening (always assuming that
there would have been room for
so great a man, with his gold
lace and ruffles, and bag-wig and
sword) he would have, no doubt,
first taken a pinch of snuff out of
the jewelled box in his hand, and
then he would have nodded at
you approvingly, and said that,
" you were a worthy scion of the
Halibuts, who were all men of
And if that meek
the sword."
old man (of whom there is no
picture, but) who lived at the
same time, and on the yeoman's
farm, serving God amid his
sheep, could have squeezed himself in-and there was room for
such as he-he, the grandsire,
many generations back, of this
same Archibald Halibut, by the
mother's side, would have said
"that quaver of the voice in
telling what some had endured,
and others had been saved from;
that look of the eye, so tender
and so true-they had been in the
Makepeace family from time immemorial; and, Archibald Halibut, through your mother, they
have come to you."
But it is much more to my
purpose to tell of the living than

25

of the dead; and of the living-i.e., of Archibald Halibut-what
I have to tell is this-that he
plainly gave the old bookseller
and his daughter to understand
that, he had not exhausted himself
that one evening; and so he was
invited to come again.
And as " give and take " is the
rule of all well-ordered minds, is
it any wonder that, as Archibald
Halibut was as fond of music as
Margery Hardwick was of the
stories of all manly deeds, the
one was given, as it were, in exchange for the other ? And so
things went on, until the Halibut
who delivered the three maidens
was nowhere, and no one; and
the Halibut in flesh and blood
was everyone; and if not everywhere in Margery Hardwick's
imagination, certainly very often
in the little parlour where Margery chiefly lived.
Quietly and calmly, and without
giving notice to anyone, the old
bookseller left the little shop for
ever. He was found leaning on
his elbow, with his hand on his
forehead, apparently poring over
an old book he had just purchased on " Ye Nature of Ye
Holie Angells; and Ye Occupations of Ye Blessed Dead "-but
he was really far away; probably
knowing more about these things
than the author, however wise he
may have been.
Not a relative, not even a friei d,
in the wide world had Margery
Hardwick; her only friend was
gone; and what could the knights

a26

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

in the old books, or anybody
there, do for her ?---one sympathising word, one fellow-sigh
from flesh and blood, would be
worth them all! Now was the
time for some strong arm to be
outstretched for that weak one to
lean on ; now, for some tender eye
which could fill at the thought of
that empty heart and home; and
with the time came the man.
Archibald Halibut was strong
enough to shelter half-a-dozen
such as she--he had that much
of the Halibuts in him-but that
alone would have only frightened
her; but there was that which
had come by Archibald's mother;
the hand and heart which were
strong were tender too. And so
it came to pass that, all the
angels, and all the knights, and
the lease of the house, and
the goodwill of the business, were
sold by auction. 'Going for the
first time-for the second-for
the third and last time !' then there
came the sharp tap of a hammer
on a little desk; .and Margery
Hardwick's home was no moreat least, not the home that used
to be.
But the world is full of buildings-up as well as pullings-down
-alas ! buildings-up only to be
pulled down again; still buildings-up--if only for a time. And
so, a beautiful little home was
built up for Margery Halibut,
where in due season she was
comforted for the dead ; and found
the living a strong support.
There Margery Halibut sang all

her sweet songs, and every song
did Archibald Halibut good. And
the little home was unvexed with
mere care of bread, for besides
what her father had of his own,
some of the angels had fetched a
high price, being scarce, and the
knights, and old recipes of curing
by herbs, and gemn r-l collection
of oddities in type, had done well
by Margery, and given her something which, at any rate, was not
to be despised.
Nor was Archibald Halibut
without some means. The colonel
of his regiment held money in
trust for him-whence, and how
much, we need not say-but
with Mirgery's it made enough
for a piece of farm ground and its
house; and as the farm was
chiefly grazing land and orchard,
with only just enough of tillage
to give the place the name of a
farm, it was all easily within
compass; the labour and anxiety
were not much, and they brought
plenty of bread.
And there for eight happy
years lived Archibald Halibut
and Margery his wife; and for
seven of them a little Margery
was the light of their home, and
the joy of their hearts; and the
same voice which had charmed
the soldier continued to charm
him, now that he dwelt in his
little farm, a man of peace. Life's
current ran smooth for many
days.
But life is life; and its stream
has many a heavy fall as it wends
its way to the great ocean; and

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

the stream of Archibald Halibut's
life was broken suddenly. Over
the rocks it fell, and became
broken water. The peace of the
home was gone, for Margery was
gone; and no one knew she was
going-she did not know it herself; but the husband was leftlefL a helpless man, because he
had made himself helpless; he had
confided his rough nature to her
gentle one; and he was no longer
the strong man who, in the wild
power of human strength, could
fight with evil, and misfortune,
and defy them, whether he was
to conquer or be overcome.
But Halibut's home was not
quite forlorn. There was a little
songstress left; but the time had
not come for the stricken man to
hear the voice of this little
charmer, charmed she never so
wisely.
The little Margery had inherited her mother's voice, and
been taught by her many of her
father's favourite tunes, and
songs, and hymns; for Archibald
Halibut had learned to love
hymns, partly for their own sake,
and partly for that of the one by
whom they were sung. And she
sang to him in the morning when
he got up; and in the middle of
the day, When he sat down to
what used to be a dinner; and in
the evening, when the door was
shut to, and no one could disturb
the aloneness which Archibald's
spirit craved.
But Margery was a failurep sad, sad failure.
Archibald

Halibut had always called his
wife "mother" from the day
that little Margery was born;
and many a time, when mother
and daughter were sitting together at work, or walking in the
orchard, would Archibald Halibut's wife say to her little girl,
"And if I die, Margery, you
must be ' little mother ' to your
dear father, until he comes to

me."
And all this Margery remembered; and now, small as she
was, she tried to rise to the occasion, and to sing her father into
rest and peace.
All that the
child had seen her mother do, she
tried to do; all the tunes and
words she knew her father loved
to hear her mother sing, she
sang; but the ear which used to
hear was deaf; poor little Margery's song was sound, and
nothing more.
More and more moody grew
Archibald Halibut every day;
and the little mother grew more
and more troubled, for she knew
less and less what to do.
"Father, father ! " said the
child at last, as she stroked his
bushy beard, and looked in his
dark eyes, which were getting
different from what she had ever
known them-getting like the
old soldier eye-more fiercemore like the Halibuts'---less
like the eyes in which the Makepeaces of olden time sometimes
partly lived again---less like the
eyes to which Margery Hardwick's song and life had added

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

something more of softness and
peace.
" Father-father! what
can little mother do ? She will
learn any songs you like, and
sing them to you all day long as
well as ever she can; as like
mother as ever she can--"
But the poor little mother had
no opportunity of finishing what
she had to say, for, starting up
fiercely, Halibut cried out, " She
promised many a day she'd sing
to me from heaven if she died
before I did, and she's gone now
-ay, six long months; and I've
never lieard a sound ! You promised," cried Halibut excitedly,
lookilg up, "and I've watched
the heavens day and night to
hear the sound, and you've never
done it. Are they all so beautiful
up there that you've forgotten
the poor soldier you made good ?
Are they all listening so happily
to you that you don't care to
have a poor soldier charmed with
your song ? But no," continued
the poor man, the voice, which
in the last sentence had sunk to
deepest pathos, now rising into
fierce anger -- " no ! Margery
Halibut waB true on earth, and
true she'll be in heaven. There's
some one keeping you back, sweet
mother. Ah! if I could reach
him ! Ah! if I could strike
him ! Ah! if I could shoot
him! "-and the little mother
was left crying alone in the
room. Her father had rushed
out; and whither she did not
know.
*

*

*

*

" Hi, jolly comrade !" said a
party of sappers and miners who
had come to put up the new telegraph posts and wire, and who
were sleeping for the night at
the "Polar Bear."
"So you
were in the army too; well, we
believe you; though you're a
rum one now, and I guess you'd
soon find your way to the cells if
you were in the service again;
but there's no mistaking your
cut; come, give us a song."
The long-forgotten spirits had
been drunk plentifully by poor
Archibald, and he half sang, half
hiccupped" Look up, look up, ever so high,
There's a devil, a devil, up in the sky.
No; we won't go home till morning."

" Bravo !" cried the soldiers ;
" go on." And poor Archibald,
passing his hand over his forehead, and trying to gather his
wits together, after two or three
minutes, gave them another

stave" Shoot him! shoot him! the nasty thing!
'Tis he that won't let my Margery sing.
And off flew his leg in the battle, 0 ! "

The wife of the landlord of the
" Polar Bear " was a mother herself, and she knew well about
" little mother " at the Orchard
Farm; and many a time had a
tear started into the good woman's
eye, as she thought of the lone
child there. And now, she recognised the father, although she
had never seen him within the
walls of the " Polar Bear " before.
Mrs. Tankard's word was not

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

_

__ ____
__ __ ___

' To Archibald Halibut it was his Margery's voice."--page 31.

29

30

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE

the one to be disputed by many
people when she chose to speak;
least of all by Mr. Tankard, who
had been trained through many
years to say "Yes" when she

diate anxiety about him; but it
was plain from these that his
mind was where it had been
when the fierce paroxysm had
seized him; and who could tell
said "Yes," and '' No"' when whether the same thing might
she said " No." Mrs. Tankard not occur again ?
But it was not destined ever
was a woman in advance of her
age, and had instinctively anti- so to do.
cipated the question of "'Woman's
Some weeks had now elapsed
Rights," and had for a long time since the sappers and miners had
been so educating her husband finished their work, and there
that, when the time came, he stood right at the corner of Archishould be up to the mark of bald Halibut's orchard a tall,
docility, and in generally a proper straight pole; and strained from
frame of mind. The lesson which and to other poles far off was an
so many of us have to learn, Mr. iron wire. It was a hard and
Tankard already knew by heart. unlovely-looking thing; but, like
So, when she drew her husband much which seems hard and unaside, and said that not another lovely to us, touched with the
drop of drink was to be given to Invisible, it had powers and
Mr. Halibut, and that he must be capacities of which we little
taken home at once, the thing dream.
There under that pole, they
was quickly done. She escorted
him herself, and with her own placed Archibald Halibut's armhands helped the little mother to chair, the first time he went out after
put him to bed. Ay, and more his long illness--there, for it was
than that-next day, and the day the sunniest spot; and it was
after, and the day after that, did to be the sunniest spot for the
she come, and for many days, soldier's heart, though the puband helped to do up the house, lican's wife and the little mother
for the mother-feeling was strong did not know this-for how do
in her; and she rejoiced almost we poor mortals know the good
as much as the little mother her- which Heaven has in store for us;
self, when the sick man was put and how, and when, peace is going
again in his chair before the fire. to'be spoken to stricken hearts ?
The visible and the Invisible
The paroxysm had passed, and
were at work on that iron wire
Archibald Halibut was now quiet
enough. He seldom spoke; and in a few moments after Archibald
were it not for the frequent up- Halibut, noticing nothing, was
lookings-nowhalf reproachfully, seated under it.
At one end of it was an
now half wistfully-the little
" operator "-a
human hand,
mother would have had no imme-

THE SONG OF THE IRON WIRE.

tapping and tapping an instrument, and flashing along it
mysterious words"1Skin the Rabbit---Fifty to one
-- nailed," and that, when interpreted, meant :-Fleece James
Crowhurst; take his fifty to one
against Fly Catcher; we have
information which makes it safe.
Poor young James! You got the
message on the racecourse, and
that night you were a beggar.
So wrought man. But Wind,
blowing where it listed, the
sound whereof was heard, but
the whence and whither whereof
was not known, was playing on
the iron wire, and it vibrated,
sinking and swelling, whispering
and murmuring, with soft and
mysterious
and
other - world
sounds. To Archibald Halibut
it was his M argery's voice. The
sounds shaped themselves into
words for him. They seemed to
whisper in song, Waiting time will soon be o'er.
No partings then for evermore."

And the soft lights came into
the soldier's eyes once more as
he looked long and steadily
upward, then gazed for a moment,
half in bewilderment, on the
little mother, and dropping his
head on his breast, fell into a
Something
long, long sleep.

P
#INTD

BY

DBERY1

GABDNDDDAND

said to the child, " Do not disturb
him ! " so there she sat by him
all that day; and as night came
on she covered him with his coat,
On, on,
and sat there still.
Archibald Halibut slept far into
the night. Who can tell what in
that sleep he saw, or heard ? but
thenceforth he was like a child
himself; and the old, wild look
never came in his eye any more;
and the little mother led him in
and out, as though she were his
mother indeed, and he her little
child. There came a woman to
look after things for three or four
hours every day, but her presence
The
was not even observed.
little mother was the only one
that Archibald Halibut knew;
and she led him every day to his
seat beneath the iron wire.
There she could leave him for awhile; for she knew that he would
not stir, and was safe. To him
the sounds of the iron wire were
ever new. Sweet words of olden
time came murmuring to him, as
its vibrations answered to the
breeze, sweet words of time to
come- the metal blasted and
smelted from the bowels of the
earth, and winds ever blowing
free in the light of heaven,
joining in sweet charity to comfort one poor stricken heart, with,
ever new, ever fresh,
" THE SONG OF THE IRON

CO,

BRINDOD

OAD,
,LO1IDQNp

Z 0rs

WIRE."

A SERIES OF PENNY STORIES,
BY

THE

REv.

P. B.

AUTHOR OF

Demy 8vo.

'THE

POWER,

OILED

M.A.,

FEATHER,

32 pages, Pictorial Paper Wrapper, Id. each.

Born with a Silver Spoon in His
Mouth.
It Only Wants Turning Round.

A Christmas Surprise.
The Gold that Wouldn't Go."
"He's Overhead."

The Choir Boy of Harlestone Min- The Dead Man's Specs.
ster.
House and Home.
"He's Gone Yonder."

The Mirage of the Streets.

PENNY LIBRARY OF FICTION,
Demy 8vo.

32 pages, Pictorial Paper Wrapper, Id.

each.

A Terrible Inheritance.

Three Times Tried.
By B. L. FARJEON.

By GRANT ALLEN.

Golden Feather.

In Marine Armour.
By G. MANVILLE FENN.

&o.

By the Author of "Mehalah,"

For Dick's Sake.
By Mrs. J. H.

My Soldier Keeper.

RIDDELL, author of " George
Geith," &e.

By C. PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY.

By Telegraph.

Slipping Away.

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By the Author of "Victa Victrix."

by the

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SAXBY.

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By HELEN SHIPTO1.

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Staunch: A Story of Steel.

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A Living Apparition.

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By GRANT ALLEN.

Paying the Penalty.

Brought to Light.

By CHA
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By Mrs. NEwMAN.

Two Volumes (containing Six Stories in each), paper boards, 6d. each.

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